Gentle Violence and Delicious Silence
by NeverIsTheEternal
Summary: It took a lie to make Margaret Hale realize the truth. It took admitting the truth to expose her weakness, and overcoming her weakness to find the strength to heal. Movie inspired thanks to a rainy day off but with strong notes of the book added. CHAPTER 2 SPELLING ERRORS FIXED! Apologies for uploading the unedited doc.
1. Chapter 1

_**This is what happens when I have a day off and I'm bored. It started as a short piece of fluff, and then Margaret and Mr. Thornton began to argue in my head. This scenario is based on the movie universe. I hope you enjoy it. Feedback is always welcome. Also, I do not own the world or characters created by Elizabeth Gaskell.**_

Margaret more than disliked London society. She hated it. It was difficult to believe that she had spent so much of her youth here, parading with Edith day after day through the endless monotony of shallow observances. It had not been that long ago, but the past two years had seemed to last longer than her entire life. She had passed through the valley of the shadow of death, formed an intimate acquaintance with sorrow, and was no longer young. Her only comforts lay in Edith's children and the knowledge that Mr. Bell was safely in Argentina, spending the rest of his lonely days in peace and contentment. His letter had arrived that morning. He said that he felt younger for the journey; gave a detailed description of the villa he occupied, an amusing account of the housekeeper who might give Dixon a few lessons in over-protective servitude, and then devoted the rest of the letter to the matter of Mr. Thornton. She had passed over the first page of the letter in fond indulgence, but her eyes hungrily ate the words of the next two pages - reading them over three times.

She was unaware that the strike had such a negative impact on Marlborough Mills. Mr. Thornton never betrayed his troubles in word or look. It was only fair, Mr. Bell explained, that she be aware of the situation, as the mill's landlord, and to prepare herself for contact with the manufacturer. In light of what Mr. Bell knew, she appreciated the warning and for a moment wished fervently that he had given the property into someone else's control. The next moment, she kissed the pages for dear Mr. Bell had given her an opportunity to see Mr. Thornton again!

She only wanted to see him, to know that he was alright, to explain herself in some way - if she could. It had been several months since she had seen him, over a year since that fatal night which brought her so low in his eyes. Not a day passed where the thought did not pierce her soul, her heart bleed continually from the wound. She knew now that she loved him, would always love him, perhaps had always loved him but was blind to the emotion from the height of her lofty and misguided ideals.

The fall had humbled her, and while the view from her new perspective was more painful that anything she had ever anticipated, she did not regret the overwhelming feelings of gratitude and respect that she felt for the man she had once spurned. She prayed to God that she could tell him the truth. More than anything, she wanted him to know why she had lied, who she was protecting. It was not redemption that she sought. She had no hope of ever regaining his respect and affections. It was more that she knew him, was certain that he felt he had misjudged her virtue and was tormented by the idea. If only he knew the truth, perhaps it would ease his mind. It was presumptuous to believe, in light of the news of his failure, that he even thought of her, but if there was even a chance that she could bring him a measure of peace, it was worth any price.

Except Frederick.

How torn she was in her mind between betraying her brother and betraying her heart... nay her soul! God would forgive her. He saw her intentions, knew how keenly she repented of her sin. Would Frederick forgive her? There was only one way to find out. That afternoon she walked to the post office in the rain with a long overdue letter explaining her predicament. It was a testament to her troubled mind that she had not thought of addressing the matter with her brother sooner, and her only prayer now was that the letter would swiftly find its way to Spain and bring back a suitable reply.

Her prayer was answered. The maid brought the anticipated later on schedule the same morning that news arrived of a successful speculation that Mr. Bell had ventured and which brought Margaret a considerable sum of money. Henry Lennox was disappointed if he expected her to be pleased at the news. She brushed it off as though he had informed her of the weather, and feeling petulant, he added the news of the full closure of Marlborough Mills and her need to find a new tenant. She glanced sharply at him and excused herself to read her brother's letter.

_Dearest Margaret,_

_I am grieved by your letter. Why did you not tell me sooner how gravely you had compromised yourself. I never would have urged your silence! If telling this Mr. Thornton the circumstances in which he discovered us will bring you peace, then by all means, tell him! I would risk my life for you, but I will not have you risk your soul for my life. _

_Be at peace, dearest sister. I am well. I am safe. Do what you must. _

_All my love,_

_Fred._

She stared at the letter for half an hour, turning over the brief message in her mind along with the news of her newest fortune and Mr. Thornton's circumstances. She did not believe in coincidence. God had answered her prayers. After all of these long months of sorrow and loss, she was being given the opportunity to do all that was right for the peace and happiness of those she loved. Silently thanking God, and Fred, she sought out Henry Lennox.

The following day found her and Mr. Lennox on a train to Milton. It was not a comfortable ride. She had walked into the drawing room to overhear Edith imploring Mr. Lennox to marry Margaret! Apparently, this had been a scheme of hers since Margaret arrived in London.

"Henry," she began, "surely you know that my heart has not changed."

He glanced up from his paper with a startled look on his face. "My word, Margaret. You don't stand on convention, do you?"

"I would prefer there to be no more misunderstandings between us," she replied, staring out the window, "and I don't want Edith to give you false hope. I admire you, Henry, but my affections are engaged elsewhere."

"Mr. Thornton?"

She closed her eyes and a tear fell to her cheek. "It's silly, I know. So much has happened. So much time has passed, and he has a very low opinion of me. I have no hope, but that does not mean I am free to encourage you. Find someone else, Henry, and let us remain friends."

He stared at her for several moments weighing his disappointment at her words and found it was not a heavy burden on his heart. He admired her, but he did not love her. She would make a good wife, was a good friend, but he wanted her for more practical reasons than any true attachment.

There was no regret in his voice when he muttered, "If that is your wish," and returned to his paper.


	2. Chapter 2

Margaret was content when they arrived in Milton shortly after noon and Mr. Lennox showed no desire to chaperone her around the town. He merely arranged a carriage to take her where she willed, assured her that he would settle them at the inn and could be found there if she required him. His attitude was aloof for his pride had been wounded, but her smile of gratitude made him forget hard feelings and resolve to be the friend she needed. He had a feeling that she would need a friend after this meeting, for good or ill.

She was startled by the contrast between returning here and her visit to Helstone. She had felt a sad sense of loss in the place of her innocent happiness. Here, in the place where she lost so much, it felt like coming home. The first place she ventured was to the cemetery where she dismissed the carriage. It was an unnecessary luxury and she preferred to walk, memories stirring her to tears as she quietly picked flowers for Bessy's grave, smiling as she discovered a rose bush a few paces off the path to her mother's grave with a solitary rose hidden amidst the thorns.

It was a small, stunted plant, the thorns winding around a wooden fence-post already overgrown with ivy competing for sunlight. It would never compare to the roses of Helstone but it seemed to her more beautiful than any rose she had ever beheld for this one was here – and real - while more lovely ones were only memory, the roots taken up and discarded like so much of her happy childhood. A romantic ideal stole across her mind as she thought of love, comparing it to this sad wreck of a bush as it wound inextricably around her heart piercing it from all angles with deep briers, but incomparably beautiful for the production of even one determined flower.

Her feet carried her on and soon she found herself outside the open gates of Marlborough Mills. She owned this place now but did not feel any sense of pride in it. How could she feel pride in the heavy silence that greeted her, more tormenting than the noise of machinery and men shouting orders. The courtyard was clean of every scrap of cotton. The looms stood like giant skeletal monsters in quiet rows within the warehouse. She wandered aimlessly through the maze of machines before she was arrested by the sound of voices. They were speaking quietly but the slightest noise would echo through the cavernous rafters and she crept nearer at hearing the baritone notes of Mr. Thornton. The other voice she recognized as belonging to Nicholas Higgins.

"Have you heard aught of Miss Margaret?"

"She's in London. We're not likely to see her again."

"I thought she might have gone to Spain."

At these words, Margaret stumbled forward, catching herself against one of the great machines. The noise made both men turn.

"You were saying, Master," Higgins said, dryly.

"Miss Hale?" He glanced between the weaver and the woman. "Did you know she was here, Higgins?"

"No, I didn'," he crushed his cap in his hands and took a step back. "I'll be on my way, though." He paused by Margaret and added, "Come by the house for a visit wi' me an' Mary afore ye leave?"

"Of course, Nicholas" she said affectionately though she never looked at him. Her eyes were held captive by the man slowly walking toward her. He had changed. Only a year had passed, but he looked ten years older. There was a pain in her chest as she beheld the fine lines around his eyes and mouth, the silvering at the temples of his hair. He still moved with a commanding grace but his face was shuttered of all emotion though his gaze seemed to burn through her.

She had rehearsed what she was going to say a thousand times in London, on the train, during her walk. Words could not be found as he stopped before her, stared down at her. She shifted her eyes from his, found herself staring at his throat. It occurred to her that he wasn't wearing a cravat. The collar gaped open, the sleeves of his white cotton shirt were rolled up to his elbows and he was without his jacket. She had never seen him so informally attired, but it was very warm inside the mill. A blush suffused her cheeks as she shifted her gaze to a button on his black vest.

Her vision blurred when his voice seemed to vibrate through her blood

"Why would you have gone to Spain?"

Her eyes flew back up to his. There was curiosity there... and a spark of anger.

"Mr. Thornton," she attempted to speak, now that the time had come to tell him the truth, she found her courage deserting her. The high color visibly drained from her cheeks. She couldn't breath. A loud buzzing noise suddenly overwhelmed her hearing, making his next words distant and indistinguishable. What if he resented her more for the truth? He was a magistrate! Did she not compromise his position with the local law by unintentionally involving him in the defense of her brother, a declared traitor to the crown! Darkness seemed to gather at the edges of her vision. For the second time in her life, Margaret Hale collapsed into his arms, the blow of her own distressed thoughts more wounding and painful than the sharpest stone.

A fine sheen of sweat glistened on her brow as he gathered her close, picked her up, carried her to his office and laid her upon his now empty desk. Her desk, he corrected himself as he stared down at her. It was only fitting that she should acquire the part of his life that he never would have considered giving her, even though he would have given her everything else. For an uncharitable moment, he wished that she would go to Spain and leave him be, allow him to move on from the terrible truth that he had lost everything to her; his heart, his self-control, and now his very livelihood. He was overwhelmed once more as his mind conjured the image of her stepping off a ship into a world impossibly far from his own; stepping into the arms of the young, elegant gentleman from the train station, stepping out his life... forever. His hands clenched into fists and his heart cried so fiercely at this torment that the sound almost escaped through his clenched teeth.

After a moment, he composed himself. His jacket hung on the back of the office door and from it he withdrew a handkerchief, wiping the cold sweat from her brow as she began to revive.

"Oh dear," she groaned, trying to sit up, trying to gather her thoughts, trying in vain to find her composure while he stood over her with accusing eyes. He gave her the time she needed, offering a hand to assist her from the desk into his office chair as her confusion cleared. "I'm afraid you fainted, Miss Hale. Would you like me to fetch some water? I will have to go over to the house."

He started for the door before she could answer and her hand shot out to grasp his arm. "No, thank you, Mr. Thornton. I will be well in a moment. I've only shortly arrived from London and fear that I neglected to eat before walking here." Her fingers dropped from his sleeve. "And I will not lie, my emotions have been disturbed since arriving. I was unprepared for this visit."

"You came to me," he reminded her gruffly.

Her eyes sparked in their old way at his tone. "That does not mean that I was prepared."

"Why are you here, Miss Hale?" He sighed, suddenly looking incredibly weary as he leaned against the corner of his desk.

"A business proposal," she replied bluntly, finding her courage at last, or perhaps too exhausted to draw the matter out; the weakness of her doubts fleeing in the face of her determination to have everything resolved with this man before her, world weary but not broken by his circumstances. She fought through the haziness of mind to add, "I have my lawyer with me and I hoped to have you dine with us this evening to go over the scheme."

"Is that why you just collapsed in my arms? Because you came to ask me to a business engagement?" He suddenly pushed off from the desk and began to pace the floor, agitation overcoming his composure, the jealousy that had been eating him alive for the past year finally asserting itself, demanding answers. "No, I believe you overheard my conversation with Higgins and wish to conceal..."

"Do not finish that thought!" She cried, hastily rising to her feet, pale and trembling. The sudden movement caused another wave of dizziness to overcome her, but she pressed through it. "Do not speak of assumptions with no foundation of truth! I will explain, if you will let me, but I promise that you will regret your next words if you go on."

She sank back into the chair breathlessly.

He stared at her, a bit astonished but without pity.

"If I am so wrong in my assumptions then, by all means, explain."

She managed it, dry-eyed, watching his face intently for signs of incredulousness or resentment while the story of her brother unfolded. His eyes widened in surprise, his mouth tightened in consternation, but his chief expression was one of profound relief.

At last, after several tense moments of silence he said, "You were right to silence me."

"I should have told you sooner."

A tight smile curled the corner of his mouth as he glanced sideways at her. "Perhaps, but I will not fault your decision. As you told me shortly after the event, it was not your secret to tell. Am I correct in assuming that you've informed your brother of the extraordinary price that has been extracted from you to buy his safety?"

"Only just," she admitted. The shy look that entered her eyes caused his breath to catch. ". I was too unsettled in my spirit to consult him regarding the matter until recent events led me to believe I might have another chance to explain all to you, then I wrote to Fred and obtained his blessing. Your gifts of perception astound me, Mr. Thornton"

"They've not done me much good lately, I'm afraid." He extended his hand. "Will you accompany me to the house, Miss Hale? You're still very pale and I would offer you refreshment - and to continue our discussion in a more comfortable environment."

A panicked expression flitted across her features and she replied uncertainly, "I need Mr. Lennox to help me explain..."

"You don't need Mr. Lennox."


	3. Chapter 3

"You don't need Mr. Lennox."

Silenced by the strange light in his eyes and not really knowing what to say anyway, she allowed him to lead her to the house. Fortunately, Mrs. Thornton was visiting her daughter. Margaret already felt betrayed by the unsuspected weakness which earlier overcame her without having it tested on Mr. Thornton's formidable mother. He deposited her in the dining room, disappeared for a brief moment and returned with a tray of tea and sandwiches, taking a cup of tea for himself but neglecting the food, preferring to stand a silent sentinel over her until she had eaten. When he was satisfied that her color was restored and the feverish brightness in her eyes diminished, he poured them both another cup of tea and took the chair beside her.

"Now we may discuss your business proposal."

Her strength regained, she did not turn pale at his words, but her hands began to tremble so violently that her cup clattered against the saucer and she abandoned it to the table before her, hiding her hands in her lap. Taking a deep breath, she explained her plan - to give him the money that she had acquired from the unsuspected venture of Mr. Bell, to have him continue running Marlborough Mills. Her entire body trembled with emotion as she concluded her rehearsed speech, as though she had stood before a thousand people to deliver it. She hoped that it sounded professional, that he did not believe it to be charity and therefore an insult to his pride, that it would be mutually beneficial to them both and the workers of Milton. The incredulous look that escaped his features at the revelation of her brother's situation now dominated his expressive eyes.

His next words made it clear that she failed... miserably.

"Miss Hale, why are you doing this?" He rose suddenly and began to pace, if possible more violently than he had in his office, for he had more room here. "You do not care for me. You do not love me. Why do you care so much whether it is me or some other manufacturer that brings a profit to this place?"

Filled with overwhelming indignation, she replied without thinking, "I never said that I did not love you."

"You did," he cried, slamming hand onto the table and upsetting the teacups, completely overcome by her denial. It filled him with false hope and a fierce anger at the idea that she might be deliberately playing a game with his heart. Surely she knew that he still loved her!

Margaret Hale was a reserved woman with a beautiful grace that infused every movement, but with a strong passion kept tightly leashed in her nature. She did not flinch at his passionate violence. Her own slipped its' restraints at his actions and she was a different creature to the trembling woman of a moment before, the pale wreck she had been in the mill. She hardly knew herself as she rose from her seat like a queen, battle-fire in her eyes, and they were both astonished at the quiet composure of her voice when she spoke.

"Please, do not twist my words, Mr. Thornton." She stepped toward him. He stepped back, for a moment intimidated by the fierce something in her eyes that seemed to reach for his very soul in spite of the gentle, deceptive calm of her tone. "I said that I didn't like you. At the time, I did not. I could not see past our differences in opinion, feeling mine superior to yours, to acknowledge..."

Here she faltered. She turned from him. He was freed from that wild look in her eyes but stood transfixed as she began to glide back and forth in his previous footsteps. He was struggling to name that emotion so clearly discernible in her countenance, a look he never dared hope she would impart to him, which he could not hope for now. He had to be mistaken!

And yet, every nerve in his body seemed to wait for her next words until he was undone by her silence and prompted, "to acknowledge..."

She stopped before the window, looking down into the courtyard and nothing could have prepared him for the words that poured from her.

"How much you unsettle me," she finished. "You have unsettled me from the moment we met. I am a practical person. People often mistake it for haughtiness, but I have a pride in knowing my mind and felt a mortification in being so confused by you. The first time we met, you beat a defenseless man and I was too tenacious of life to understand there might ever be a justifiable reason for such violence! It frightened me, but was not nearly as terrifying as this strange awareness of you. I can feel when you look at me, your voice when you speak to me, as though my very blood responds to the call of your presence."

He listened intently to what she said but could not make his mind agree with his heart on what she meant. In his agitation, he began to quietly pace again, trying to digest her words, and she turned from the window in her quiet distress to pace as well. They circled each other in a strange dance to the music of their restless, long suppressed emotions.

She continued in a less regal and more defensive tone, "I did not understand this place or what was happening around me; my mother dying, my father struggling with his faith, everything about Milton. It was all so different from the simple life I knew in London and Helstone! Above all, I could not understand you. I resented you for so willfully attempting to drag me out of my naive ideals which I believed were so superior to your daily reality... and yet I was drawn to you. It was too much!"

He suddenly reached out and grasped her by the arms, drawing her near as he gasped through clenched teeth, "Drawn to me? I thought you hated me!"

He was trembling as violently as she, but her determination did not waver in her promise to answer for all.

"Surely you know me well enough to understand that even my naive ideas of courage would never induce me to stand between an angry mob and a man that I hated. Yes, I pitied them, and would still defend them in my pity, but don't assume for a moment that I ever pitied you."

"I feel very stupid at the moment," he said tremulously, his grip upon her tightening almost painfully, "I cannot quite understand what you mean."

Gathering the last of her courage, she raised her palm to his face, smoothing her fingertips over the lines of tension she found there, watching them fade as he leaned into her hand. "You understand what I mean," she murmured, heart catching in her throat as his eyes fluttered closed, long black lashes resting on his cheek.

"Tell me that you love me," he demanded quietly, eyes still closed, breath shallow.

"I love you, John Thornton."

He gasped, pulled her with gentle violence into his arms, held her tightly against his heart, and filled the next several moments with a delicious silence as his lips found hers, as her fingers slipped from his cheek to find their way beneath the collar of his shirt where they explored the tender skin usually hidden from her.

The documents that Henry Lennox had so carefully prepared were no longer necessary, but his devoted support as her lawyer and friend made the following month manageable, especially when it came to consoling Edith. He even managed to convince Aunt Shaw that it was a well suited match! Additional documents were drawn up, but Margaret and Mr. Thornton entered into a more permanent and binding contract that anything outlined in those meager pages.

Mrs. Thornton accepted the situation as she accepted everything that concerned her son.

"I can never forgive you for making my son unhappy," she informed Margaret on the day of the wedding.

Margaret had been preparing for this conversation since the day she confessed her love to the son in question. "You said once that I did not know the man that I rejected. You were right. But I'm no longer the girl that rejected him. I'm the woman that will love him for the rest of my life."

Mrs. Thornton smiled at this response. "Then make him happy, if what you say is true. Then, even though I cannot forgive the girl, I might just learn to love the woman."


End file.
